Something that's devoid of truth, or an argument that lacks logical reasoning, something with fundamental errors in the process of making something real. It may sound nice, and plausible, but when you get down to the gritty details there's not a chance in hell that it truly is. Then again if you believe that, you have to believe that there is the possibility that there is a chance, and weigh your options. That's the point. What do you believe? What is truth? What is lies?
Where does hope have a place in the process - and where does reality set in.
Maybe it's the doctor in me that causes me to pick at the holes in everything I see or read. If there's a chance that something, anything, is a falsehood, then I will find it and I'll tear it open until the guts spill out. If I don't, then all you're going to get is kicked in the ass at the end of the road.
I'm not here to hold your hand and let you know everything is going to be just alright. I'm here to tell you that you're in trouble, and I'm going to tell you your options for fixing it. Maybe they'll work, and maybe you'll walk out the front door with your head held high. Maybe they won't work. You have the choice. You don't want the treatment, fine. Your choice. I'll give you the options, and I don't sugarcoat things, and that's your choice.
Of course, everybody lies.
Dr. Greg House
Word count: 250
So last night was Halloween. A few weeks ago, we took Jackson to one of those Halloween stores and let him run all over the place
like those kids you see destroying displays and asking where are his parents and we ended up settling on a costume.
No, Princeton was not terrorized by a miniature Batman (he didn't like the cape) or Iron Man (he didn't like the mask/hood) or Spiderman (apparently Jackson hates spiders) or a race car driver (the jumpsuit was not happening) or fireman (he threw the helmet on the floor and nearly had a screaming fit) or any of the stereotypical things one would expect a two year old to want to wear for Halloween.
We finally managed to find one that he liked: a furry little sea otter.
Apparently, my son has inherited my
dislike absolute disdain of conforming to the 'norms' of society.
I apologize in advance. God have mercy on us all when he hits preschool.
(But he was a damn cute sea otter, that's for sure.)
You know what's awesome? Days where I don't have to listen to mindless dribble from the mouths of idiots. Days where I don't have to spend hours upon hours treating kids downstairs in the clinic. Days where my boss allows me to do my job...wait, none of these days ever happen. Right. Okay. Let's start that over.
I will admit that while I don't like sitting back and watching, there's something about being able to sit and watch a true genius at work. Deft maneuvers. Hair-raising drama. Death defying action. I'm not talking about surgery obs either. I'm talking about planting myself on the leather couch in my living room with a beer in one hand and the remote in the other.
Monster trucks. You realize how god damn hard it is to drive one of those things? If I can't be there in person getting mud flung on my face from the pits and if I can't get deaf in person from the engines and exhaust, then my living room is a damn good alternative. Gravedigger is awesome. Gravedigger never, ever disappoints.
Dr. Greg House
First of all, yes I will be pulling and using new material from season 5 for this journal, for both writing and RP purposes. Since House is already so obviously AU at this point he's not binding to any other muses from the 'verse in TM and none of the characters mentioned are any muses currently in the community.
Second thing I wanted to bring up was a question, in regards to the friends list. I will be cutting major spoilers for episodes and plot and so on, but I am curious as to what the readers on the friends list here would like to see. Is anyone watching season five who won't get it until after the US does? I don't want to spoil the season accidentally for any muns. Please let me know if I should avoid commenting/bringing stuff up with your pups in comments because of spoilers.
Thanks guys. The headvoice has been quiet due to a long, long break and the strike, but he's back and rarin' to go, snarky as ever...
Would you make a good spy? Why or why not?
I'm a very detail oriented person, but I know when to ignore the bullshit and focus on the important things. I'm very hard to lie to, because I spent months in a hospital bed listening to doctors and nurses lie to me and there's something about a person that just screams liar in their face when they're doing it. They never even notice. That's the great thing, about humanity. You can be in control, but in reality, there's always a catch.
I people watch. It's a hobby of mine. I like malls and airports. There's always at least a dozen different things going on at any one given second, and you can sit and contemplate all the ways that everyone would react to any given scenario. People in motion are people worth paying attention to. Someday it might come back to help you, the things you see. Or it may come back to hurt you.
Would I make a good spy? Probably not. But I'd make a hell of an agent assigned to gather intel on someone. Give me an hour or two and you'll have plenty.
Then again, the CIA and I don't really get along well, so that wouldn't help.
Dr. Greg House
Word count: 200
What are the five steps to a successful negotiation?
Really, I'm serious. It worked for Han Solo, didn't it?
The story is simple, and goes like this. One morning, a man named Jack Moriarty wakes up and decides that someone is going to pay for the fact that his wife decided to kill herself because she just couldn't bear to live. Naturally, he loads his semi-automatic pistol and tucks it into his coat, then heads for the most logical choice of target. The man who, according to his fucked up brain, is responsible for her not wanting to live.
At roughly ten thirty-four on a Tuesday, Jack Moriarty walks into my office and does something that I have always, always tried to teach my fellows to do. He doesn't hesitate. He trusts his gut, he pulls that gun, and he squeezes that trigger.
He shoots first. He doesn't ask questions, just steps over and looks at me lying there on the floor, bullet having shredded through my side. Looks at the blood pooling on the carpet, and he really looks at me. He didn't have to ask questions, and he didn't have to try and negotiate anything. It was settled.
The next bullet hit me in the jugular and I passed out pretty quick after that, but did it really matter to him? He didn't care if I lived or died. He had his answer, he had his peace, and he'd done what he wanted to do without having to deal with anyone's bullshit. He wasn't going to be talked out of what he felt like he had to do to get the job done.
In a way, I understood. I understand. I don't blame the son of a bitch.
He did what he thought was right. I do what I think is right. And if it gets the job done, without negotiating and wasting time? Great.
Dr. Greg House
Word count: 307
Hey, drivers of the world? Newsflash.
Let's start a new rule: Get off your fucking cell phone while you're operating something weighing close to two tons on the turnpike. I don't care if you're giving birth or late to pick up Johnny from ballet practice or what the fuck ever. Get off your fucking cell phone and novel thought, signal and better yet look before you change lanes into the motorcycle next to you.
I came about two seconds from getting creamed by a giant Lexus SUV this afternoon. Lady was on her phone and decided that it was a great idea to jump a lane to catch her exit that she'd apparently been too deep in conversation to notice.
Note to self, write Honda, thank them for the front brake package they put on the CBR's.
Dumbass bitch was lucky I can go endo without killing myself.
You know what?
Fuck work tomorrow. I'm getting stoned and listening to George Harrison instead.
There are some fields of work in which a person gets happy endings more than half the time. Hell, there are even some fields of medicine where most of the people that you take as a case end up walking out the front door, rather than rolling out the back. But being a doctor means that people come to you because something is already wrong, so you're at a disadvantage from the start. Yeah, it sucks, but it's a challenge.
I like challenges. That's why I'm in diagnostic medicine with a specialty in infectious diseases. I get the cases that are so off the wall and so difficult that any other kid in a lab coat would have no idea where to start. I like what I do. I have the freedom to run my department pretty much how I see fit (thanks to my contact's awesome clause setting up the account for my legal fees -- there's a lot I can do with 50k a year to fuck around with) and I don't have to think inside the box.
I hate the box. Sure, when you're in medical school, it's all about procedure. Test this, run this, check this and this and this, and if it's not that then it can't be...no. Screw the box. Test it all. I don't care if you have a date on a Friday night, we're all going to be staying up with urine samples looking for designer drug cocktails and with petri dishes full of cultures. Find the problem and then you can have a social life. Or well, my little lab rats will. My Friday nights are spent cheering for the Mets or Gravedigger, whatever happens to be on my TV.
Right, topic. Happy endings are great. You don't get many in my line of work -- I do save more people than I lose, though -- but the ones you do get after all the hard work? Rock.
I'll take anything I can get, be it someone walking out the front doors of a hospital, a walkoff by Delgado, or a half dozen smashed schoolbuses all lined up in a row, I'm really not particular.
Dr. Greg House
Word count: 360